Chicken

Thank you, Bert Lahr, there will never be another Cowardly Lion as brave as yours

Where do you think it came from? Calling a coward, “chicken”. I’ve never seen a cowardly hen or rooster. Have you?

On Tuesday, I faced a hurdle – a tough one, I’ll admit – and didn’t make it over. I journaled about it and titled it, “Chicken”. I’m told I am judging myself wrongly. It was pointed out that I wouldn’t think any of my friends and loved ones were cowardly for choosing the path I took on Tuesday. Still, it’s what I do.

Several days ago, the wife of a neighborhood friend died of complications from advanced cancer. I didn’t know her, and I had no idea she was ill, let alone dying. But. Her husband was the first person from my neighborhood to call on me the day after my Darling Husband died – they were good buds. The day after his wife died, he called on me again. This time, it was me giving out the hugs and holding his hand while we cried a little.

He told me of the arrangements he’d made with the local funeral home. There would be a viewing on Tuesday.

This is the same funeral home that came to pick up my Darling Husband, that took care of him and all the arrangements for me, that hosted the magnificent memorial service for those of us left to celebrate a beautiful life. I have not been there since. I drive past frequently — this is a small town — and never look too closely.

And so. On Monday, I called for flowers to be delivered to the funeral home on Tuesday. On Tuesday, I spent the morning doing my normal things, with the addition of agonizing over what to wear to the viewing. I fixed my hair, applied subtle makeup, got dressed, settled Fergus in his playpen with some peanut butter, got in the car and drove into town.

On purpose I arrived a few minutes late. I didn’t want to put unreasonable expectations on myself that I would stay very long. The plans must have changed because, as I drove into the parking lot, everyone was leaving the funeral home for the drive to whatever cemetery she’ll rest in. It was an impressive turnout. I could have stopped anyway, looked for my friend to express my condolences in person. Instead, I kept driving on by.

I was at a loss. My feelings were a bright mix of relief and guilt. I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I took a drive through some lovely old neighborhoods that my Darling Husband and I used to drive around to admire homes and landscapes – especially at this time of year. I went to Starbucks, got my usual and took the long way home. I drove the back roads that take me past a nearby cemetery, thinking maybe that’s where everyone was heading and maybe I’d stop then.

The Universe conspired against me. Road workers had the road closed and I had to turn around and take another picturesque mountain lane back to my usual route. Again, I was relieved. I tried, I told myself. I tried.

Well, since you very successfully mentored a child through hurdles (and 1000 other things), I guess I’ll take that advice to heart. And, you’re also right about just making the decision to try and going as far as I did. Thank you.

You need to give yourself more credit than you are for what you were able to do. Maybe take a meal to your neighbor and let him know that you understand what he’s going through. Let him know, if you want, that you wish you could have been there but just couldn’t go in that day. I’m sure he’ll understand and will appreciate that you tried. Love to you. I’m so sorry this was a difficult day.

Thank you, Jill. I do plan to see him over the next few days. He’s a sweet man, quite possibly didn’t expect me to be there in any case, but the community was so supportive of me. I felt I needed to do something to show my support in return. I’m truly blessed to have so many friends here and everywhere that hold me up when I stumble.

It takes a great deal of intestinal fortitude to go and be strong for someone who is suffering the same sort of loss you yourself had to face. Your husband was your life. His wife was most likely his. Cancer is a horrible creature. It robs everyone and leaves a mark that won’t ever go away. Be it caregiver/spouse, parent, child, sibling and yes, even survivors. There is a plethora of emotions that go with it. Anger, grief, denial and guilt. It all takes a hunk out of person. Sometimes it’s physical, a scar from treatment or surgery. Those actually heal. It’s the emotional toll, the unseen and often misunderstood that is the hardest to bear. It takes a lot to heal from that. Go easy on yourself. A person leaves a mark, the closer you are to that person, the deeper everything is. You aren’t ready to return and may never be “ready”. And that’s okay, you don’t have to be. You can help him walk through it in a thousand other ways.

You have done nothing to warrant guilt. You were there for him the day after his wife died and it sounds like he had many to support him the day of the service. I cannot even imagine how hard it must have been and the memories brought forth. The metaphorical bandage around your heart was ripped off for a while and maybe TPTB were at work to protect you AND him. If it was too much for you then you wouldn’t have been able to give him that support, then you would feel even MORE guilty. I’m guessing he will appreciate private support from you given when you are in the proper mindset to give it. And I have no doubt that you will. Hugs, love, and prays my friend.